“What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. Before many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served.
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